The Deadliest Sins
by pompeiigraffiti
Summary: In the fall of 1917, German soldier Peeta Mellark receives devastating news about the woman with whom he fell in love. Written for round four of Prompts in Panem on tumblr and based on the seven deadly sins.
1. Chapter 1 - Wrath

"Do you ever stop and think about exactly how dangerous this is?" Peeta asked, turning to press himself against Katniss' back. He brushed his lips along her bare shoulder.

"I know exactly how dangerous it is," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice and imagined her eyes closing.

"That doesn't scare you?"

"Are you scared?" Katniss asked, turning onto her back to look at him. Peeta smiled, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. She set her hand on his cheek and kissed him. "You're a soldier. Isn't it your job not to be?"

"I never claimed to be any good at my job," he said. Katniss laughed and draped her arms around his neck as he shifted on top of her.

"Clearly you aren't," she said, letting her legs fall open as he kissed her again. She sighed and tilted her head back as his kisses moved to her neck. "I am a wealth of your enemy's information. I really don't think this is what you're supposed to be doing with a spy."

"My enemy?" Peeta smirked. "Did my lack of an ostentatious mustache not prove to you I am not actually Kaiser Wilhelm?"

Katniss opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a soft, breathy moan as he moved against her. She reached between them, curling her fingers around his cock. Peeta buried his face against her neck, softly moaning while she stroked him. After a moment he touched her arm and stilled her hand.

"Katniss," he breathed. "What would we do?"

"What?"

"If we were caught," Peeta pulled back and smoothed Katniss' hair away from her face. "What would we do? I can't lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," she said, a smile playing on her features. She combed her fingers through his hair. "Do you really think I'm some waifish little thing who can't take care of herself? What kind of women do you have in Germany?"

"None like you," he said, returning her smile.

"If either of us end up in danger I'll just go into hiding," she said with a shrug. "I've done it before. I can even leave the country if I need to. And no one knows about us. Not on my side, anyway."

"I'm afraid someone may have figured us out," Peeta looked away. "He knows who you are, anyway. That you're in the city."

"A lot of people know that," she said, trailing her fingers up his back.

"I mean, he knows you're not a dancer," he clarified.

"You know I'm not a dancer," Katniss said.

"Joking or not, I don't think I like what you're trying to imply with that," he said. Katniss kissed his jaw.

"I'm not implying a thing, and if anything happens," she set her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her again. "If there's any danger, I'll disappear. I'll lay low until it passes, and we'll reunite somewhere safer. If it gets bad enough I could get you new papers. We could disappear together. For good."

"I can't lose you," Peeta said again, quieter this time.

"You won't."

**Two and a Half Months Later**

In better times, Oberleutnant Peeta Mellark may have actually enjoyed Brussels. In the spring, maybe. And by choice. However the war ended, he had a hard time believing any of the people he passed on his way home would feel like they won anything. Maybe the end of the occupation would leave them feeling relieved, but not a single one of them looked like they had enough spirit left in them for victory. He didn't even care about the loss anymore. What Peeta cared about was getting the major off his back, finding Katniss, and getting home. Or India. Argentina. Anywhere. Starting the life they'd planned.

He bought a paper from the newsboy on the corner by his apartment, as always. He paid a little extra, as always. Occupying forces or not, there was no reason not to be a good neighbor. He went home, too tired for an immediate meal, the way he'd been ending his workdays for the past few weeks. Instead, Peeta shucked his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair, and sat down at his table to read the paper. He shook it open, unbuttoning his shirt as he looked down at the headline.

Popular Dancer Katniss "The Mockingjay" Everdeen Executed at Dawn

"No," he breathed, leaning forward and smoothing his hand over the page, as if he could somehow wipe away the words and replace them with something less heartbreaking. He leaned his elbows on the table and combed his fingers back into his hair. "No."

There had to be some sort of mistake. It couldn't really have been her. Someone incorrectly identified. Or even someone set up to take the fall. That had to be it. She couldn't have been taken from him. Things couldn't have gone that horribly, irreversibly wrong in the three weeks since she'd vanished. They both knew that there would come a day when she needed to go into hiding. They'd talked about it. She'd reassured him. It came with the position, but she knew how to keep herself safe.

Peeta pressed his eyes closed, took a deep breath, and forced himself to read.

The popular Parisian dancer Katniss "The Mockingjay" Everdeen was executed just a few minutes after dawn this morning, having been tried and convicted of espionage and fraternizing with the enemy.

Katniss. No one else even knew her real name. He'd promised to keep it that way, as best he could. Even with all they had gone through, he had kept that promise. Someone had betrayed her. Betrayed them both, and he'd lost her as a result. He balled his hands into fists, tears flooding his eyes, and shoved at the table as he stood. It rocked back and forth on its pedestal base, the sound just enraging him even further. Peeta turned around and kicked the edge of it, sending it to the floor, the newspapers fluttering through the air as it crashed against the tiled kitchen floor.

Someone was going to pay. Someone was going to suffer for it. Peeta would make absolutely sure of that.

* * *

This story was inspired by the true (or as true as anyone will ever know) story of Mata Hari. Thank you to my beta for putting up with me. Also, thanks to everyone who is taking the time to read and/or review. You can find me on tumblr as yourpeetaisshowing.


	2. Chapter 2 - Greed

"So, you grew up in a bakery?" Katniss wrinkled her nose, looking over at Peeta from her spot beside the open window. She loved the breeze and that they were high enough that less of the sky was obstructed by neighboring rooftops than most of the buildings around them.

"Yes," Peeta smirked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I don't know, it just seems a bit-" Katniss cut cut herself off with a brief grimace. "I just didn't imagine that for you."

"It's no Indian palace, your highness," Peeta joked. He knew the story she'd constructed for herself was a complete lie. Katniss wasn't a princess. She wasn't even Indian. Her features covered for it, of course. Her dark hair, that even in the sunlight shone the color of deep mahogany. Her olive skin, that seemed even darker against Peeta's own fair complexion. Katniss blushed faintly, smiling and looking out the window again. He watched her for a moment before pulling a tray of rolls from the oven. "It had its benefits, though."

"Do you see them often?" Katniss asked, her voice wistful. "Your brothers, I mean."

"I haven't seen either of them since I enlisted," he moved to sit on the edge of the windowsill. "The oldest moved out years before that. The other is still at the bakery, as far as I know." Katniss smiled briefly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you have any siblings?" She looked up at him and took a hesitant breath, her eyes slipping out of focus as she weighed whether or not to tell him.

"A sister," she finally said, dropping her gaze. It was the first bit of her actual history that she'd admitted out loud in years.

"You sound sad," Peeta observed.

"I haven't seen her in years," Katniss looked out the window again. "I send money to her as often as I can."

"Where is she?" Peeta asked. Katniss' expression tightened, but she didn't answer. "You still don't trust me? You know everything there is to know about me."

"I have to keep her safe," Katniss said softly. Peeta shifted closer and took both of her hands in his. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I could help with that," he said.

"Maybe."

"Katniss," Peeta squeezed her hands, waiting for her to turn her attention toward him. "I can."

"I know," she said. Katniss stood, allowing the front of her robe to fall open as she took his face in her hands and kissed him. He wound his arms around her waist, beneath her robe, pulling her closer. She drew in a sharp breath as he snagged her lip between his teeth, moving to stand up from the sill. Katniss pushed him back, standing to pull her robe from her shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor. She smiled at him as she knelt between his legs, keeping her eyes on his while she unbuttoned his pants, tugging the zipper down. Her eyes fluttered closed as she took his cock into her mouth.

**One Month Later**

Peeta sat on the floor in the doorway to his kitchen, his back against the frame, hands pressed over his face. The newspaper lay scattered across the floor, his kitchen table and one of the chairs still upended on the linoleum. He dropped his head back against the wood and took a deep, shuddering breath. It felt even more cruel that he was mere hours too late to put a stop to anything. That morning, she'd still been alive. Barely half a day before she'd still been breathing. He'd been mapping his inventory of candidates who could have pushed her to her death. It was a short list, but it was enough to calm him down.

He leaned forward, shuffling through the pages in search of the article, and sat back to resume reading. The words were a blur at first, and Peeta forced himself to focus on them.

_The Mockingjay was born Katniss Everdeen, eldest daughter of businessman Silva Everdeen. The ruthless industry baron built himself from the ground up, a noble feat, had it not been done on the backs of those around him. Though her tale of royal Indian lineage was far from the truth, her father's profits entitled the young Katniss to a true life of luxury. Her childhood was spent in their vast home in the Netherlands, servants tending to her every whim. She was her father's darling._

There had been a few moments when Peeta had coaxed a bit out of Katniss about her past. She was scant with details, never giving quite enough to identify or locate anyone. He wasn't even entirely sure her father was still alive. But she was uneasy talking about him, and not in the way she was about her sister. Her caution in that regard had only ever been for the girl's protection. When it came to her father, though, Katniss rarely spoke of him with fondness.

Peeta had always imagined her fictitious past had been as much a ploy to distance herself from whatever the man had done as it was to protect her family. He'd caught her, more than once, tucking away the majority of her weekly pay into the mail. He'd caught a glimpse of the tiny apartment she lived in before they left Paris. None of that pointed to childhood lived in luxury, or a sister still living that life.

She had known how to conduct herself though, with an air of decorum women in her line of work could rarely maintain. Whenever he'd seen her in public her clothing had been elegantly tailored, with a genuinely exotic flair that hinted at her time abroad. Something it had taken him months to realize wasn't fabricated like so much else about her. Even on stage, she draped herself in silk and jewels. It wasn't until he'd begun taking her home, until he'd seen it all up close that he realized her gowns were mended and the silks fraying at the seams. Her jewels were colored glass. Where had things gone wrong for her?

_It seems the Mockingjay inherited her father's penchant for dishonesty and greed. What she flouted as a royal Indian pedigree that included fine features, dark skin, and jet black hair, were little more than her father's thieving gypsy background softened by a beautiful Dutch mother. Once she relocated to Paris, Katniss exploited her features as a dancer, banking on hapless men who would happily empty their wallets for a touch of the East._

Peeta stood, nearly crumpling the paper in his hand as he did. They'd met in Paris. A few of his fellow officers had dragged him to a burlesque performance she was headlining. He'd heard of her, of course. And of course the papers simplified her talent as a singer and performer to dancing. He'd been guilty of the same, more than once.

Had he unwittingly become one of those men? Had she been using him the way she had the men who were before him? She herself had said even those men were mostly a lie. The rumors of a marriage in her past had been false as well. If she'd been using anyone at all, it couldn't have been him. Believing as much would only be buying into the vilification of Katniss, something he utterly refused. He'd known her. Truly known her as a person, even if he hadn't known her true history.

Reassuring himself, Peeta dropped down onto his couch. He stared out the window at the setting sun, remembering how much she adored the view, and the faint smile on her face when he'd confessed the same to her. He looked down at the folded newspaper in his hand and resumed reading.

_As Silva Everdeen's fortune grew, the fates of those unlucky enough to do business with him grew more and more dismal. His greed drove two competitors out of business, leaving his already bloated subsidiaries to swallow up their assets. It wasn't until Everdeen's own partners began questioning his methods that things began to take a turn for the family. Silva Everdeen, along with his wife, two daughters, and not only his own fortune, but a significant portion of his partners' as well, relocated to India. It was there that the Mockingjay found both drive and inspiration for her wildly successful con artistry._


	3. Chapter 3 - Gluttony

Peeta pulled out the slip of paper one of the girls from the club had given him, double checking the address written there. In all the time he'd spent with Katniss, he'd never once seen where she lived, and he couldn't imagine that this beat up, rickety apartment building could possibly be her home. The address was correct, though. Second floor, left side. The stairs groaned as he climbed them. There was a man sleeping in a corner who shuffled and turned away as he knocked on Katniss' door.

"Who's there?" she asked from the other side.

"It's me," Peeta said, stepping closer and resting his hand on the doorframe. He heard her suck in a breath, heard the doorknob jiggle. It was a long, deafening moment before she opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I needed to see you," he said. Katniss leaned out the door, glancing at the man down the hall before opening it wider to let Peeta into her single room apartment. The floors were creaky and worn, the paper curling off the walls. The furniture was sparse; a small table with a single chair, a narrow bed against the far wall. The only color in the room were the dresses hanging in a doorless wardrobe by the bed. "This is where you live?"

"Yes," she said, leaning against the door, her shoulders tense as she watched him take the place in.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he turned to her, his brow knit together in concern. Katniss just shrugged.

"Why did you need to see me?" she asked, changing the subject as she crossed the room to the single tall window that dominated that wall. She looked outside before drawing the threadbare drapes closed.

"I'm being reassigned," he said, glancing down at her hands. Katniss clenched her fists, trying to hide her trembling fingers.

"Where?"

"Brussels," he said, stepping closer to her and sliding his hands up her arms. "I want you with me."

"You know I can't just leave with you," she said, letting out a humorless chuckle.

"Aren't you a spy?" he covered her shaking hands with his, leaning closer and brushing his lips over her jaw. "Wouldn't they want you taking off with some hapless German soldier to learn all of his secrets?"

"You don't have any secrets," she cracked a smile, tilting her head as he kissed her neck.

"They don't need to know that," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pushing her hands behind her back in the process. "And maybe I do. Maybe I'm just waiting for a gesture of confidence. Like running away with me to another country."

"I can't go with you," she said, twisting her wrists out of his grip and draping her arms around his neck to kiss him. "But I could follow afterward."

"How long?" Peeta asked, his voice growing husky and low as she pressed her body against his.

"Two weeks?" she offered. He groaned, rolling his hips against her and burying his face against her neck. Katniss gasped softly as his hands slid down her thighs. "Maybe just one."

"How will I survive a week?" he asked, hooking his hands behind her knees and lifting her off of her feet. She clung to him, pressing kisses against his hair as he carried her to her bed.

"How will I?" she asked breathlessly, hiking her dress as he settled his weight between her thighs. He unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down, unable to wait or hold back any longer. They undressed each other even as he began moving in her, gasping softly against each other's bare skin and collapsing together breathlessly when they finished.

"Do you need papers?" Peeta asked, pressing slow, lazy kisses along her collarbone. "To cross the border?"

"No," she ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it away from his face to kiss his forehead. Katniss untangled herself from him, slipping out of bed and crossing the room. He watched the swing of her hips, the light of the late afternoon sun on the sheen of sweat that covered her bare skin. She crouched beside the window, lifting one of the boards from the floor and pulling out a bundle of papers tied together with string. She dropped back down onto the edge of the mattress and flipped through them. "Who should I be? Meera Boulstridge? Fatima Le Feuvre?"

"None of these say Katniss," he picked up one of the passports. "That is your real name, isn't it?"

"Yes," she smiled, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "My last name isn't Bursnell, though. It's Everdeen." Peeta set down the passport in his hand, looking up at her. Katniss looked down at him, guilt flitting across her face at the disappointment in his. "That wasn't to lie to you. I promise."

"Then why?" he asked softly.

"Everdeen is my father's name," she sighed, moving the papers to the floor to lay back down beside him. "Was. He's gone. The way I live - the way he lived - they couldn't be more different. He never had enough. Always wanted more."

"You don't have enough," Peeta frowned, looking beyond her at the shabby, shoebox apartment.

"I have plenty," she said, setting her hand on his cheek and kissing him.

**Three Months Later**

Not a word of what he was reading matched the girl he knew. The girl he loved. Peeta wrestled with a fleeting hope that they had the wrong person. That someone else had taken the fall, someone with a false story. The real Katniss, the Katniss he loved, could still be out there. Maybe. He slid to the end of his couch, turning on the electric lamp that stood on a table beside it, and flattened the newspaper page out against the arm to continue reading.

_The Everdeens arrived in India in 1907 and settled into a life far more extravagant than the one they left behind in the Netherlands. The home Silva purchased for his family was a veritable palace. Katniss' royal lineage may have been an outright lie, but for some time she lived like a princess. The family of four was far outnumbered by the servants that waited on them, in a house where even the youngest child had an entire wing to herself._

_Silva courted potential business partners in the English colony with lavish feasts. He poured vast amounts of money into food and entertainment, hoping to snare investments and misplaced trust in return. It was here that Katniss found inspiration for her performances, watching the dancers at her father's parties._

Peeta didn't know a thing about dancing. He certainly couldn't dance himself, something she teased him about more than once. He did know, though, that the way she moved onstage certainly wasn't something she learned anywhere in Europe. He was never sure if her reassurances about her time in India were true or not. He'd wanted to believe her then, but now he wanted all of it to be a lie, even if it would only mean that the entire story was false. That she hadn't been swept out from under him and killed.

Was she lying? Were the snatches of that strange language she slipped into her songs just gibberish? The twang of the sitar as foreign to her ears as his own? Was any of it real? Peeta ran his hand through his hair, trying to reconcile the hours spent in each other's arms and the honesty in her eyes with the wealthy, overindulgent liar the article depicted. The two didn't line up. Not even close.

_What no one but Silva himself knew, however, was that these parties were a desperate attempt to save his own fortune. With his business in the Netherlands utterly bankrupt, and no new investors showing interest, in spite of his efforts, the Everdeen's fortune began running dry. He skimped on his servants' pay and refused bills from those he employed to cater his dinners even as he scheduled more. It finally all caught up with him when a disgruntled cook poisoned his meal. Silva Everdeen left his wife and daughters with nothing but debt, and Katniss, unable to adjust to life without her silver spoon, left her mother and sister behind to fend for themselves. She arrived in Paris mere weeks after her father's death, and the Mockingjay was born._


	4. Chapter 4 - Pride

"Are you coming with us or what?" Gale called, shoving open the door to Peeta's apartment. At some point he was going to need to start locking it.

"Yes, I am," he smirked, shrugging out of his uniform shirt. They hadn't quite made it into Paris yet, so visiting in anything but plainclothes wouldn't go over well at all. Visiting, though, had quickly become a favorite pasttime of most of the soldiers whenever they had the free time.

"Then hurry the hell up," Gale smirked. "I'm not going to miss the show because of you."

"What show?" Peeta asked, buttoning up a fresh shirt.

"Some dancer," Gale said. "The Mockingjay."

"Seriously, that's where we're going?"

"They say she takes it all off," Gale wagged his eyebrows.

"Finally going to fulfill your dream of seeing a naked woman?" Peeta asked, holding back a smile as he slung his coat over his shoulder and shut and locked the door to his apartment.

"Fuck off," Gale laughed, shoving his shoulder. The two of them joined a handful of other officers for the trip into Paris, and they all ended up seated at neighboring tables once they reached the club. There were a few minor acts before the Mockingjay took the stage; pretty girls and talented dancers, but nothing especially eye-catching. Peeta threw a few impatient and bored looks in Gale's direction throughout the evening. Each one earned him a backhanded slap to the shoulder. "Just wait."

"I hope she's worth it," he muttered. She was. The lighting shifted dramatically as the Mockingjay took the stage, draped in heavy, dramatic jewelry. The club's host introduced her as a princess from the far East and expounded her background in sacred ritual dances, none of which Peeta bothered to truly listen to. He was captivated, watching in awe as she slipped her robe from her shoulders as the music began, carefully obscuring much of her body as she moved. She wore a sheer gown beneath it and very little else. The house lights and nearly all of the stage lights abruptly went out, leaving her silhouette illuminated by a series of lights at the back of the stage as she dropped the robe completely. Every curve of her body was clearly visible through the now-transparent fabric.

It was when she began to sing that Peeta truly fell in love. With the show concluded, she wrapped the robe around herself again and made her rounds to each table. Peeta watched her talk and laugh and flirt with nearly every man in the room, accepting small gifts and cash with a demure smile that certainly seemed to befit royalty. When she reached their table he found himself completely unable to speak, though none of the other men he sat with had any such trouble.

Peeta went back the next night alone, and after her performance he pressed a few bills into her hand, clasping it between both of his. "You are beautiful."

"Thank you," she smiled, a faint splash of color rising to her cheeks.

He returned the night after. And the night after that. Each time she spent a bit more time with him, and he found a bit more money to pass on to her. He found himself disgusted by the way some of the other men treated her. They pulled at her robe, threw crass jokes at her that she shrugged off with a quiet, enchanting laugh. It took two weeks of asking, toward the end of which Peeta very nearly resorted to flat out begging, for her to agree to dinner with him.

"You know, I nearly believe some of the lovely things you say to me," she said, her hands clasped lightly around his elbow as they walked through the streets together.

"And I nearly believe some of that history of yours, your highness," he said, glancing at her. A genuine smile broke out over her face, far more dazzling than anything he'd seen grace her lips in the club. "I've never been a very good liar, though."

"I should give you lessons," she said. He chuckled.

"There's something else I'd rather have from you," he said.

"And what's that?" she asked, sounding as though she knew. That she'd been expecting it. That she wasn't at all amused. Peeta stopped and turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his.

"Your real name," he said. She searched his face, trying to find some hint at what he was truly after, but finding nothing but honesty.

"Katniss," she said softly.

"And a kiss. That's two things, I'm sorry," he smiled. She laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Peeta turned his face and captured her mouth with his, flicking his tongue against her lips before she pulled away.

"How much longer can I keep you to myself?" she asked breathlessly.

"As long as you like," he said. She smiled, taking his hand in hers and dragging him back to the club. She had a dressing room in the back. Small, but private. And the door locked. She made love to him on the sofa, pressing him down into the velvet upholstery as her hips rocked against his. He dozed with his arms wrapped tightly around her, but woke alone beneath one of the silks he'd seen her dance with onstage. His discarded clothing was folded neatly on the floor beside him, an envelope resting on top. Inside was every last franc he'd given her in that club along with a note.

_I won't accept your charity, but I will accept your company. I want to see you again. As often as possible._

_-K_

**Seven Months Later**

Peeta stood in the window of his apartment, staring out over the city and trying to fully wrap his head around a world that kept spinning without Katniss in it. It was taking him hours just to read through the article. Every few paragraphs he had to stop and set it aside as tears overwhelmed him again. He pushed away from the window frame and went back to his kitchen, righting the table and scooping the rest of the newspaper off the floor. He pulled open the cabinet beneath his sink, pulling out a bottle of whisky and a pouch of tobacco, neither of which he'd touched in months. The cigarettes would be stale and dry, but he sat down at the table and rolled a few anyway, lighting the first as he poured himself a glass of whisky and resumed reading.

_Shortly after her arrival in Paris, she found a job dancing in what outwardly appeared an upstanding establishment, though in actuality it was only filled with women of loose morals and those inclined toward preying on the good citizens of our fair city. She used her immorality to virtually rob unsuspecting men by lavishing insincere attention on them to fund her lavish lifestyle. Additionally, Ms. Everdeen could not dance at all, simply deflecting that truth through revealing her body. The woman was little more than a prostitute._

Peeta nearly threw his glass across the room. There was nothing lavish about the life Katniss led. She lived in a single room apartment she'd been too embarrassed to show him even after months together. Everything went to her sister, save for the absolute minimum she needed to survive.

_Even in the courtroom, the Mockingjay held to her false air of grandeur. She stood tall, giving bold, impudent answers to her prosecutors and shocking the court with her utter lack of shame and morality. She maintained her defiance to the end, facing down her firing squad decked in her finest, her head held high as they took aim._

Peeta pressed his eyes closed, trying to force the mental image of Katniss being shot to death from his mind. He drained his glass and poured another before lighting another cigarette. A deep and unsettling guilt began taking hold of him. Who had known about them? He was sure it was no more than two people. Possibly three. Unless one of them had talked. And if they had, how had that made it to the other side? What could they possibly have discovered in just three weeks that was enough to sentence her to death? He'd thought they'd been so careful. Where had he gone wrong?


	5. Chapter 5 - Lust

Peeta had been in Brussels for a week and a half, and Katniss still hadn't managed to catch up with him. He was starting to fear she hadn't been able to leave the country. That she'd been detained for her false papers. Or even that she'd been lying about it all along. That, somehow, would have been worse than any of the alternatives.

He had a hard time sleeping, and spent most of his nights pacing his apartment, staring out the windows, hoping that he hadn't been lied to. He was wide awake when the knock came at his door at 3am, and his heart caught in his throat. He turned toward it, not quite believing what he heard.

"Peeta?" Katniss called softly from the other side. "I saw the light." A paper being crumpled, a muffled swear. Peeta threw himself across the room and pulled the door open, staring at her in disbelief. She let out a sigh. "I was getting nervous I had the wrong place."

"No," Peeta said, looking her over. His heart was pounding. A smile broke out over her face and Peeta reached for her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her into his apartment. He crushed her to him, kissing her as he kicked the door closed. "I thought you weren't going to come."

"I had some trouble getting out of the city," she said breathlessly, her lips hovering against his. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"I missed you," he wound his arms around her waist, crushing her against him and burying his face in her neck. He inhaled the familiar gentle scent of her perfume, letting out a soft moan that vibrated against her skin.

"I missed you, too," Katniss said, exhaling against his hair and leaning into him.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Peeta said, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist.

"And what have you been thinking?" she smiled, draping her arms over his shoulders and kissing him.

"How about I show you?" he grinned, carrying her into his bedroom before setting her down on her feet. His kisses travelled down her neck and over her collarbone, along the wide neckline of her dress.

"I like these thoughts," she said as he turned her around. Peeta pushed her hair over her shoulder to kiss the back of her neck as he unbuttoned her dress.

"I thought you might," he smiled against her skin, smoothing his hands under her dress and guiding it off of her shoulders.

Peeta could barely pull away from her long enough to undress her. He didn't want to let go of her long enough to allow her to do the same for him. The week and a half they'd been apart was the longest he'd gone without her since they'd met. He needed her skin against his, needed to press against her, needed to bury every inch of himself inside her.

Katniss leaned back against the pillows, her arms wound around his neck, opening her mouth to his tongue as he pushed her thighs apart. Peeta dragged his knuckles over her hipbone, dipping his hand between her legs and smoothing his fingers over her flesh. She moaned as he pressed his fingers into her, pulling back to rub her wetness against her clit. She whispered his name against his lips, reaching down to slide her palm along the length of his cock.

"I dreamed about you every night," Peeta said, grazing her jaw with his teeth before nipping at her ear.

"Good dreams, I hope," she gasped, moving her hips against his hand.

"Always," he breathed, nudging her hand away and taking hold of his cock. He rubbed the head against her folds, pulling back to watch her face as he sank into her. Katniss' eyes rolled back, her mouth dropping open as he filled her. She hiked her thighs up to his waist, raising herself toward him as he began to move in her.

"Missed you," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him and pressing kisses to his shoulder. "Needed you. Needed this."

"Oh, fuck," Peeta moaned, hooking his arm beneath her hips as he pumped into her. He'd been with plenty of women, but none of them felt as good beneath him. And none of them had ever kept him so constantly aroused. Every thrust left him desperate for more. He felt consumed by her, and he loved it.

Katniss dropped her head back against the pillows, raking her nails across Peeta's back. He took her hips in both hands, holding her steady as he drove into her, the bedframe creaking and shifting with the force of it. She cried out, her toes curling and her knees drawing up to either side of him. Peeta moaned, dropping his head against her chest as she tightened around him, squeezing his cock. Their voices just barely drowned out the sound of their skin beating together.

Peeta's movements grew harsh and ragged as he neared the edge, her breathy pleas growing higher and louder. He licked his fingertips, reaching between them to rub at her clit, desperate to feel her come on his cock. Her body tensed and trembled beneath him, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open wide. She buried her cries against his neck, her pussy clenching around him like a vice, and bit down on his skin as she came. Unable to hold back, Peeta bucked into her, moaning her name as he filled her with his come.

He lowered himself on top of her, taking deep, heaving breaths as he nuzzled against her hair. Katniss let out a gusty sigh as his cock slipped out of her, carefully lowering her shaking legs to the mattress. He felt her smile against his skin, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside her.

"I'm sorry," she said, hiding her face against his neck.

"Why?" Peeta smirked, smoothing his hand over her hair.

"I bit you," she said. Peeta laughed, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him.

"I liked it," he said. She kissed him before folding her arms on his chest and resting her chin on her hands. He closed his eyes, smiling contentedly as he rubbed her back. "I want you to stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

"I mean live with me," he clarified. She kissed his chin.

"I wish I could."

"I don't have to report tomorrow," he said, his smile broadening.

"Then I'm _really_ not going anywhere," Katniss laughed, shifting to straddle his hips, pinning his cock between them. She set her hands on his chest, rolling her hips against him. He let out a groan that dissolved into a chuckle, sliding his hands up her thighs.

They barely slept, instead spending their night tangled in each other. The next day was a blur of heated bliss for them both, stretching through a second night.

In the grey light before dawn Peeta watched Katniss dress. He stood from where he sat on the bed, pressing his hips against her ass as he buttoned the back of her dress. When he finished she dropped her head back against his shoulder, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair as he kissed her neck.

"Stay," he said. "I want you here when I come home. Waiting for me in bed."

"You know I can't," she sighed. "I have to at least pretend I'm doing my job."

"I know," he said, nipping lightly at her ear. She shrugged away from him, reaching for his undershirt as he buttoned up his pants. She held it out for him, pulling it down over his head and then straightening out the bottom after he put it on. He kissed her, lingering against her lips until she smiled and pulled back.

Peeta walked with her to the sidewalk, risking a kiss that she laughed and shrugged away from. Katniss shoved his shoulder, turning to walk away, and he lingered on the front steps until she was completely out of sight. He still had a few hours before work, and realized as he climbed the stairs that they hadn't even broken away from each other long enough to eat in the time she'd spent there. A pang of guilt hit him; he should have at least made her breakfast before she left.

"Someone had a busy night," Gale said, leaning in his doorframe on the second floor landing. Peeta stopped short.

"Um, yeah," he said, trying not to blush as he started up the next flight of stairs. "Belgian girls. Y'know."

"I thought the Mockingjay was from India," Gale said. Peeta stopped and turned to look at him. "She's a spy, you idiot."

"I know," he said.

"You have to tell the Major," Gale folded his arms across his chest.

"I can't."

"You _have_ to," Gale repeated. The two of them stared at each other. "What have you told her?"

"Nothing," Peeta said. Gale raised an eyebrow. "Gale. Nothing. What do I even have to tell her?"

"Has she told you anything?"

"Even if she did, I'm not betraying her," Peeta snapped.

"Then you're an idiot," Gale stepped back into his apartment and slammed the door.

**Six Weeks Later**

Peeta stood at rest, staring at the wall above the Major's head, his jaw so tense he feared his teeth might crack. Katniss had spent every night in his bed since she'd arrived. He was exhausted, distracted, and risking a reprimand for both. He didn't care.

"What are you hiding?" the Major asked.

"Nothing, sir," Peeta said.

"Oberleutnant Hawthorne seemed to think otherwise," the Major folded his hands against his desk. "And he's certainly not prone to dicking me around. I didn't think you were, either. So which one of you am I wrong about?" He paused, waiting for a response. Peeta swallowed hard, but kept his eyes trained on the wall. "I know you're fucking that spy." Peeta snapped his gaze down to meet the Major's eyes.

"She doesn't know anything, sir," Peeta said.

"I don't give a shit if she's deaf and dumb," he snapped. "She's working for the French and you've been balls deep in her for God knows how long." Peeta ground his teeth, struggling to hold back a sneer. "What has she told you?"

"Nothing, sir," Peeta said.

"Horseshit."

"To use your own wording, sir, I'm not dicking you around," Peeta bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

"Then you're an absolute fucking waste of a uniform," the Major said. "I should send you to the front lines. After I make you kill her."

"All due respect, sir, I'd rather kill myself."

"That can be arranged," he said. Peeta drew a slow breath, cutting his eyes to one side. "I'm giving you four weeks. You get something I can use out of that girl, and both of you get to live. If I don't hear anything. Well. I don't think anyone's going to miss the son of a piss-poor baker or his little whore."

**One and a Half Months Later**

The words swam on the page in front of him. Peeta didn't know if he could bear reading any more anyway. He knocked back the remainder of his glass, fumbling for the bottle to pour more. It slipped from his fingers and landed upright on the floor. He stared down at it and sighed, turning his attention toward the window, toward the view of the night sky she loved so much.

She'd laughed off the major's threats. Kissed away his tears when he confessed what he'd done. He closed his eyes and thought back to her climbing into his lap and taking his face in her hands. She promised him false leads. Reminded him what a colorful, believable liar she'd always been and woven stories for him to pass on to buy them time until he or the major were reassigned.

He thought it worked.

Peeta picked up the paper. If it held any answers about what had happened or who was at fault, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But could he manage with that void lingering over him for the rest of his life? Could he survive not knowing? He leaned his elbows against the table and continued.

_It was her sheer refusal to give any true defense that brought on her death sentence. While on the stand, the Mockingjay refused to answer any questioning on who she had given information. She made no defensive statements for her actions. Even under the threat of death she remained tight-lipped. Her guilt was more than clear to the prosecutors, allowing for an expeditious trial as well as a swift and just sentencing._

Peeta buried his face in his hands, tears slipping through his fingers and onto the paper. As the sun began to rise he picked up the bottle at his feet, slumped out of his seat at the kitchen table, and made his way to bed. She'd kept him safe, even when he had utterly failed to do the same for her. He had to report in two hours. And he had no intention to do so.


	6. Chapter 6 - Sloth

Peeta didn't report the next day. Or the day after that. He drained the bottle of whisky from under his sink, as well as the brandy he'd kept there alongside it. He laid in bed in a drunken stupor, willing it all to be a nightmare. He squeezed his eyes closed, slid his hands over bare sheets, hoping against hope to find her laying beside him. The bed stayed empty.

His body hurt. His mind hurt. His fucking heart hurt. Every breath felt like an insult to her memory. One he should not have been taking. Nothing felt right without her. He curled up around the pillow from her side of the bed, inhaling deeply and hoping to catch her scent from it, though her perfume had faded from his apartment in a matter of days. He drifted, hating every second he was conscious of her absence.

"Peeta!"

Peeta snapped upright, his stomach twisting as he did. He clamped his hand over his mouth, stumbling out of bed for the bathroom. He heaved into the toilet as someone pounded on the door to his apartment. All that came up was a thin slick of bile; he hadn't eaten in days.

"Dammit, Mellark." It was Gale. "Will you open the fucking door? I can hear you in there."

"Fuck off," Peeta croaked, leaning forward against the toilet with his hands in his hair.

"I hope you know you're in a shitload of trouble," Gale called. "Look, I saw the paper. I'm sorry. I'll help you, just let me in." Peeta heard him rattle the doorknob and hoped it wouldn't give. The lock wasn't very reliable to begin with, and it had only gotten worse during the weeks Katniss kept picking it to let herself in. She liked to surprise him; undressing and stretching out on his couch so she would be the first thing he saw when he got home. Sometimes he would find her in his bed, sound asleep and curled up tight around his pillow.

Peeta vomited until his stomach felt as though it were flipping itself inside out, unsure how there was still anything left to come up. Gale gave up, muttering obscenities as he retreated to his own apartment downstairs. It took a few tries for Peeta to haul himself to his feet. He made his way into his kitchen, turning on the tap and scooping water into his mouth.

He walked in a trance, never even thinking of what he was doing. It was as though his body had rejected his being, just as he felt the world should do. The most beautiful thing in it had been taken away. There was nothing was left for him but war and death and tears.

The bottles were empty, and Peeta swore to himself, fumbling for a cigarette before he turned back around to search his cabinets again. All he found was a bottle of wine, and he picked it up with shaking hands, all but collapsing to the floor to sit hunched over it, his tears starting all over again.

**Three Weeks Earlier**

Peeta's front door was unlocked. He smiled to himself, knowing exactly what that meant would be on the other side. Clothed or not, Katniss was waiting for him, and he knew exactly which state he hoped she'd be in. He pushed open the door.

"You're late." Katniss looked over at him, shaking out the match she'd used to light the candles on the table. She'd set the small table for dinner, both plates full of food, an uncorked bottle of wine sitting between them. The sun had already started to go down, the candles the only light in the apartment. "Our meal got cold."

"I'm sorry," he smiled, closing the door behind him. "I'm sure it's still delicious."

"Maybe," she raised an eyebrow, sitting down before reaching for the bottle to fill both of their wine glasses.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked, pulling off his uniform jacket before unbuttoning his shirt. She just pursed her lips and set the bottle back down. "I'm sorry."

"Mhmm," Katniss was just barely holding back a smile. "You could make it up to me."

"Anything," Peeta crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of her. She looked down at him, smirking as she uncrossed her legs, letting her knees fall apart. He grinned before ducking beneath her skirts, reaching for her hips and pulling her to the edge of the chair. They never did get to dinner.

And he never saw her again.


	7. Chapter 7 - Envy

Peeta stopped outside the door to Katniss' dressing room at the club. He'd never taken it upon himself to surprise her before, and he hoped it would be well-received. They'd spent nearly every evening together for weeks, and he couldn't imagine tonight it would be anything less. He set his hand on the doorknob, took a breath, and then he heard it.

A man's voice. Her quiet laugh in response. Peeta's heart froze. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening to the quiet murmur of their voices, trying to tell himself to walk away and completely unable to do so. After a few minutes there was the scrape of a chair across the floor and footsteps inside. Peeta ducked into a neighboring doorway.

"I'll see you again soon?" Katniss asked as her door opened. He recognized the tone; it was one she used with him.

"I have no doubt you will," the man answered. "You know I'm always eager for our time together."

"Goodnight," Katniss said. Peeta could hear the smile in her voice, and it turned his stomach. He slipped back into the shadows as the man passed, listening to his footsteps recede down the hall.

Peeta heard Katniss' door creak as it swung shut and tapped against the frame without fully closing. He stepped out from where he'd been hidden and stepped back toward her door. Leaning against the doorframe, he peered through the sliver of space where the door stood open to watch her. Katniss stood with her back to him, pulling her hair back away from her neck, draped in one of her stage robes.

"Who is he?" Peeta asked, nudging the door open. Katniss startled and spun around toward him, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized who it was.

"My God, Peeta, you scared me," she breathed, a relieved smile flashing across her face as she resumed tying her hair back. "Come in, close the door. I thought you couldn't come tonight."

"I thought the same," he said, closing the door and leaning against it. "Who is he?"

"Who is who?"

"The man I just saw leaving here," Peeta said. Katniss studied him for a moment.

"He's no one," she shrugged. Peeta rolled his jaw and looked away. "Are you upset? Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

"Right," he said, shaking his head before turning to leave.

"Peeta," Katniss stepped toward him, grabbing his arm. "Please, that wasn't what you're thinking."

"No, you're right," he shrugged her off and yanked the door open. "I've forgotten what you do for a living."

"Stop," she snapped, pushing the door closed before he could move through it. Peeta blew out a breath, staring down at the ground before looking up at her. "It is not what you're thinking."

"No? Then what is it?"

"I can't-" Katniss cut herself off.

"Of course not," he reached for the door again.

"Peeta," she snapped, moving in front of him and pressing her back to the door before he could open it. She held his gaze for a moment, her expression pleading. Peeta waited, jaw clenched, for something to make him stay. She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. "I'm a spy."

"What?"

"For the French," she said. "That man was Captain Abeln. He gets chatty halfway through a bottle."

"So that's what this is?" Peeta asked, taking a half step back. "Are you waiting for me to get chatty? Hoping I'll spill something for you to hand over?"

"No, Peeta-"

"I don't know a damn thing," he spat. "And if I did I wouldn't be telling you any of it."

"I don't want that," Katniss protested. "I'm not trying to get anything out of you."

"Yeah, well, I hope you're as eager to see Abeln as he is you," Peeta snapped, trying to move past Katniss to get to the door. She blocked him again, setting her hands on his arms.

"That's not us," she said, softening her voice. "That's not what this is about."

"I want to believe that," Peeta said quietly. She stepped closer to him and set her hand on his cheek. "I just want the truth."

"You want the truth?"

"Don't I at least rate that?" he asked. Katniss draped her arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing her body against his. Peeta hesitated a moment before sliding his hands around her waist and leaning into the kiss.

**Five Months Later**

It was days before Gale stopped turning up to bang on Peeta's door. Days before he dragged himself to the bathroom to clean himself up. He barely recognized the person looking back at him from the mirror. He showered, shaved, forced down a meal, and sat at his kitchen table trying to wrap his head around a life without Katniss. All he felt was hollow.

The article sat unfinished and undisturbed where he'd left it days before, stained with a ring of wine where he'd left the bottle sitting on top of it. He reached for it, nudging his empty plate aside and smoothing the paper on the tabletop.

_Ms. Everdeen was offered an exceptionally generous bargain of leniency in exchange for the name of the unknown officer with whom she shared intelligence. She refused, showing what can only be described as insanity in her insistence that he meant more to her than her own freedom._

_When led before the firing squad, The Mockingjay refused the customary blindfold. Even as the command was given to fire, she never allowed her eyes to wander from the men before her. She fell to her knees before slowly falling back to the ground. The Mockingjay, a perfect picture of arrogance and pride right down to the bitter end._

That was it, then. Katniss was gone. Peeta folded the paper and set it down on the table. She had kept him safe, even at the expense of her own life. And in the process she'd left him alone and empty, no matter how hard he tried to put himself back together, he was broken beyond repair.

Peeta stood from his seat. He couldn't bring her back. He couldn't see her again. But she did have something he didn't. Something he wanted almost as much as he wanted to hold her again. He went into his bedroom and knelt to pull a box out from beneath his bed frame, setting it on the mattress in front of him and lifting off the lid. Katniss didn't have to live with the pain of that loss. And neither would he. It was her smile he thought of as he lifted his revolver from the box and loaded it. Her touch as he pressed the cold steel against his temple. Her voice before it all went black.


End file.
